


What are you doing for New Years?

by oldenuf2nb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Erotica, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldenuf2nb/pseuds/oldenuf2nb
Summary: Gift wrap and ribbons...





	What are you doing for New Years?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
>   * Your recipient's TQP name or Live Journal name: Dream_wia_dream
>   * Title: What are you doing for New Year’s?
>   * Pairing or Character: Harry and Sirius
>   * Prompt: Gift wrap and Ribbon
>   * Rating: RT
> 


Harry Potter was dreaming.

He knew he was, because he was having that odd sort of ‘out of body’ experience one occasionally has while watching events unfold in a dream, all the while knowing perfectly well that one is sleeping.  He knew that he was lying in the vast bed in what had once been Sirius’ bedroom at Grimmauld Place, face pressed into his arm, his pajama bottoms riding low on his narrow hips.  He thought that it was distinctly odd that he was dreaming about sleeping, even found it faintly amusing, but then he was sucked back into the dream as he felt fingers, gentle as butterfly wings, brush over his shoulder blades, raising goose flesh on his skin.

“Ah,” he mused with an inner smirk of satisfaction.  “One of _those_ dreams.”  He hadn’t had one in a while.  He’d been so tied in knots due to the events unfolding in the year after they’d left school, and then surrounding the Battle of Hogwarts that any sort of sexual arousal he might have felt, even being eighteen now and presumably randy, had been relegated to half-formed memories and quick wanks in the shower.  Now, it was nearly Christmas, and he was alone in the big house but for Kreacher, and he thought that it might be worth the soiled sheets to have a nice, leisurely wet dream.  Turning his face to the side, he breathed deeply and let himself sink into the mist.

Immediately, the stroke of those fingers became more insistent, centering on his spine and then moving south.   ‘Ginny’, he thought faintly, but knew instantly that those weren’t Ginny’s hands on him.  They were too strong, too insistent, not nearly so tentative or… feminine.  Male hands, and Harry’s heart-rate kicked up a notch.

It was an old fantasy, one he’d never even shared with Ron.  He loved him like a brother, but had as yet to confess that sometimes, when he ran his hands over his own body and touched himself, the face he imagined in his mind wasn’t pale and freckled with a frame of flowing red hair, but gaunt, slender, with a border of black curls and eyes as dark blue as a midnight sky.  “Sirius…” Dream-Harry breathed, and a chill ran the length of his spine as he heard that soft, raspy chuckle from behind him.  

“Hello, Harry.”  

This dream was so real, his rational mind thought even as his body reacted to the tone.  He vividly remembered every time Sirius had smiled at him, touched him, hugged him.  Burned into his memory was the few times the man had held him in his arms, their slender bodies pressed against one another as Sirius had circled Harry’s nape with his hand and held him against his chest.  For Sirius, Harry knew it had been borne of fondness for his best friend’s son, a display of affection and nothing more.  But for Harry?  Harry had relived those moments of warmth and closeness over and over again, wishing he understood what it was about his godfather that made him, almost desperately, wish it had been something else.

Well now, in his dream, it could be and he was almost pathetically grateful when his vivid imagination provided him with the feel of Sirius’ hands on his skin, the hot brush of Sirius’ breath on his nape.  “Roll over,” the raspy voice breathed, and Harry scrambled to obey.

When he was lying on his back, he peered up into the darkness, searching myopically for the beloved face.  He started to reach for his glasses on the bedside table, for his imagination was so proficient that it had even provided his dream self his near-sightedness, but a strong hand closed about his wrist.

“No,” Sirius breathed, taking the hand and lifting it above Harry’s head, holding it pressed against the brass headboard.  Harry’s heart slammed into his ribs when a moment later, he felt something silky and smooth slide around his bony wrist and secure it to the metal.

“Sirius?”  His voice sounded slightly breathless and nervous, and he heard the responding chuckle as his other arm was lifted, and his other hand was tied in the same manner shoulder-width apart from the first. 

“Relax, son,” the deep voice said to him from the darkness.  “I won’t do anything that you haven’t wished I would.”

Harry started to say something else, but his voice died in his throat when sure, steady hands slid his pajama bottoms down his slender legs, leaving him naked.  His cock bounced against his stomach as the flannel was pulled off over it, and he was as hard as he’d ever been in his life. He swallowed heavily when those wicked hands curled behind his knees, lifting them and parting them.

“Sirius?” he ventured again, mouth dry when he felt a solid body move between his spread knees.  “I don’t think…”

“That’s right, Harry,” Sirius’ voice answered, a sibilant caress.  “Don’t think.  Just… feel.”

And then Harry couldn’t stop the groan that filled his throat when he felt fingers gliding, ghost-like, over the turgid, stretched skin on his cock, touching, stroking, feather light and maddening.  A hand curled around him and squeezed, and his hips lifted into the touch blindly.  Almost as if Sirius could see in the darkness, skilled fingers gently pulled his foreskin back, then circled the weeping head of his cock, and he moaned desperately.  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” came the whisper from above him, and Harry was so far gone he wasn’t even shamed by the weak whimper that spilled from his throat.  “This will feel better.”

There was scarcely time to process the words when he was being engulfed in wet warmth, taken unhesitatingly to his base, and Harry jerked and cried out.  That was a mouth; not just any mouth, but Sirius' mouth.  The mouth that had smiled and kissed him gently on his forehead, the mouth that Harry had watched say the words, “I love you, Harry,” for the one and only time he’d heard them in his life, and Harry’s whole body shuddered in reaction.  He strained against the bonds around his wrists as the mouth moved on his hyper-sensitive flesh, and suction made his toes curl and his eyes roll up, and a swirl of strong, flexible tongue around his swollen glans had him gasping aloud.

“Oh god,” he panted.  “oh god, oh god, oh god…”  the mouth pulled away and he nearly wept in frustration.

“Not quite,” Sirius’ voice said, thick with amusement.  “But you may think you’re seeing him in a minute, here…”  

And then, to Harry’s shock, his legs were pushed up, and he felt something firm and wet slide slickly across the clenched, furled opening of his body, and he cried out desperately, his back arching.  That was the tongue again, and it…it was…oh, sweet Merlin…

“You are too wiggly,” Sirius said again in amusement.  “We can fix that.”

Hands pushed against the back of Harry’s sturdy thighs, and he felt another sleek, soft length circle first one ankle and then the other, securing them to the headboard on the outside of his hands, spreading him, holding him bent nearly double, open, vulnerable.  Harry couldn’t even complain.  His cock was throbbing, pressed against his stomach, and the dream was so vivid that the night air felt cold against the wet flesh around his opening.  Chest compacted by his legs, he breathed in short, choppy gasps.  Then stopped breathing completely when that wet tongue, without warning, thrust into his arse.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouted, nearly weeping with need.  His cock was so hard it ached.  “Oh, please, _please_ …” 

The mouth withdrew again, and he felt something else pressing against him, slide slickly inside of him.  His body protested slightly, tightening down, and he groaned.  “Relax,” the deep voice said silkily.  “It’ll be good; I promise.”  It was a finger, he realized, and it slid in, then out, then in further, then out, slowly but surely going deeper each time.  Then he felt it bend, and press up, and light exploded behind his eyes.  “Oh, shit!” he shouted, and he heard an answering chuckle from between his knees.  

“Told you,” Sirius said with wry humor, pressing against that spot that made Harry feel faintly mad, then withdrawing, only to press in again with more than one slender finger.  It burned, and Harry hissed, until that madness-inducing spot was once again being massaged.  When the other hand closed around his cock once again, covered in cool lube, and began to stroke it in tandem to the massing going on inside of him, his chest tightened on a strangled cry.

“Oh, god,” he choked.  “I’m… I’m gonna…”

“Not yet, you aren’t,” came the harsh response, and the slick hand on his dick fell away.  The fingers inside of him moved again, twisting, stretching, and he whimpered weakly.  He felt a hard pelvis press against his arse, felt a hard erection brush against the cleft in his bum, and began to tremble slightly.  “Sshhhh,” the dark voice said gently, even as yet another finger slid into his arse, stretching, burning.  “You want this.  You’ve always wanted this, since you’ve been old enough to understand.”

And even as those fingers moved slickly inside of him, and the awkward position made him fight for air, he knew it was true.  He’d always wanted this, always wanted to feel Sirius between his spread legs, touching him, sucking him, fucking him.  He hadn’t know what he’d wanted, not really, but now that he was tied helpless to the bed, bent double, fingers moving inside of him, he knew he’d always wanted someone to take all of the decisions away from him, to use him, to force pleasure on him, and tears filled his eyes.  

“Say yes, Harry,” Sirius was demanding, even as Harry felt the head of that hard cock rub against his arse.  “I can’t do this if you don’t say yes.”

“Yes!” The word burst from him, almost as if wrenched from his chest.  “Yes… yes…”

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Sirius breathed.  “I’m going to put my cock inside of you, and fuck you.”

“Oh, gods, yes.”  Now Harry was whimpering, and he didn’t even try to hide it.  

The hand was withdrawn, and the body between his knees shifted, and then Harry felt the thick, round head of Sirius’ cock press against him, pushing against his opening, breaching him, slowly filling him.  It hurt, burned, and Harry groaned.

“Relax,” Sirius said again.  “Bear down, it will help.”

“It…shit, it hurts!”  Harry voice broke even as the thickness inside of him slid in deeper.

“I know,” came the answer.  “Still want it, Harry? Huh? Still want to be under me?  Looking up at me with those big green eyes, begging for it without saying a word?”

But a hand had curled once again around his cock and began to pull and twist even as the invasion inside of him had seemed almost too much to bear, and the combination of pleasure and pain was getting all confused in his mind until the pain seemed to _be_ the pleasure.  He was so overwhelmed by sensation that he didn’t even notice that Sirius was in as far as he could go, and had begun to pull out again.

“No!” Harry cried loudly, gasping for air.  “No, don’t…”

Laughter met his ears.  “I’m not going anywhere,” Sirius answered through the darkness.  He slid back in, slowly, but this time it was much easier, there was less resistance, and Harry heard himself whimper again.  “Is it good?” Sirius asked, withdrawing only to press forward again, harder.  Harry gasped.  “Is it?  Tell me what you want, Harry.  Tell me…”

“I want…I want…” Harry gibbered, as Sirius began to speed up the withdrawals and incursions.  

“Say it,” the dark voice demanded, hands pushing against the back of Harry’s thighs until the muscles down the back of his legs and behind his knees screamed.  “Say it!

“Oh, God, fuck me!”  Harry wailed.  “Fuck me hard!”

And Sirius did; all but breaking him in two, holding him bent, tied beneath his hands, he slammed into him over and over again.  The old brass bed sang, skin slapped together wetly, the headboard bounced off of the plaster wall.  There was so much pain that Harry nearly blacked out from it, but there was the pleasure, too, the maddening, blinding, pulling twisting fucking pleasure, and his release streaked down his spine and erupted from him in burning ropes, splashing his chin and his neck and his stomach as Sirius cried out as well, buried in him to the hilt, writhing, grinding, voice a shattered cry.

Harry shuddered even as he felt the still stiff cock pulled from him, and he hissed in pain at the abruptness of the withdrawal.  

“So,” Sirius’ voice whispered darkly.  “Not bad for a dead guy, huh?”

After that, the vividness of the dream began to blur around the edges.  He heard a muttered cleaning spell, and thought wryly that his dreams had never featured the ‘clean up’ before.  His legs were released, and fell heavily to the bed, muscles aching.  His hands were released as well, and his harms fell limply to the mattress.  When a soft kiss was brushed across his forehead, he was already drifting away.  He turned into the mouth with a sleepy smile.  “Nice dream,” he mumbled.

“Yes,” Sirius voice answered.  “Very nice dream.”

 

Harsh winter sunlight was streaming through the windows the next morning when Harry awoke.  Christmas morning, he thought with a slight sigh, prepared to simply roll over and go back to sleep.  He wasn’t due at the Weasley’s until two, and… he rolled to his side, and winced as sore muscles all along the back of his calves and thighs complained.  

“Ouch,” he muttered, shifting again.  Now there were aches, not only in his legs, but in his arms, and his wrists.  He opened one eye, looking at his hand, then both of them snapped open.  Lifting his hands closer before his vision impaired eyes, he stared at the slender band of chaffed skin around both of his wrists.  “What the bloody hell…?” 

He reached for his glasses, and pain bloomed all along his side and his back, but most disturbing, in his arse.  Quicky grabbing his glasses and slipping them onto his nose, he looked again at his wrists.  There was no mistaking the cloth burn around each wrist, and his eyes went almost fearfully to the headboard behind his head.

He’d been wrapping gifts the night before, and the pile of wrapped presents and remnants of gift wrap were still in the far corner. Hanging about three feel apart, two on one side and two on the other, were four lengths of deep, rich burgundy satin ribbon from the partial roll still on the floor, dangling towards the pillows, the smooth fabric bunched and wrinkled as if it had been tied around something, then untied.  And hanging from one was a small white tag.

Pushing himself up, wincing against the soreness of the abused tissue of his arse, Harry reached a trembling hand for the tag.  He felt the blood drain from his face as he read the words scrawled across the face.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” someone had written in handwriting that looked exactly like Sirius’.  “What are you doing for New Year’s?”

Harry stared at the tag in his hand for a very long time.


End file.
